The Tale of Sirius Black
by FandomlyYours
Summary: All we know about Sirius Black's conviction is that he was imprisoned for a murder he didn't commit. What went through his mind in Azkaban? What went through Fudge's? What was Pettigrew thinking as he carried out his betrayal? A reveal full of time-skips and emotions. Each chapter is from a different character's point of view.
1. Strange How Normal: Fudge

I felt them as soon as I had Apparated.  
The Dementors. They sucked the warmth and happiness from a place, and this was the place where they were most abundant. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to live here. As Minister for Magic, I had many duties, some pleasant, some… less pleasant, but performing routine checks on Azkaban was my least favourite.  
I hated seeing the prisoners, crouched up against the wall, rocking back and forth in anguish, staring at me with dull yet accusing eyes, muttering things only mad people understood, their thin limbs wrapped around their gaunt bodies to preserve whatever little body heat they had left. I hated seeing them suffer, no matter what they had done. They were my fellow witches and wizards, and they were being punished in a way that I thought far too harsh. I hated the Dementors. They were Dark creatures by definition, and secretly I agreed with Dumbledore that the Ministry may have been… misguided in our alliance with them.  
Sometimes I considered cutting them loose.  
Ha, as if I could. Most of our kind only felt safe because the prisoners were guarded closely in Azkaban by the foul things. The press would have a field day. "Minister shows disregard for civilian safety," they would say. "Security in Azkaban drops dramatically." Then I would be the one to be cut loose, the Dementors would be reinstated, and it would all be for nothing.  
No, it was better to continue putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that the Dementors were fine, that they were our allies now…  
"Minister?"  
I straightened. Right, the check. Chin up, Fudge, I reminded myself. With as much dignity as I could muster, I walked into the prison. Checking the walls, the bars, the prisoners…  
The prisoners. I couldn't bear the vengeful looks they sent me. Half of them in there didn't deserve to be. They had done terrible things, yes. They ought to be isolated from society, yes. They should be punished, yes. But not like this. Never like this. I knew I deserved every dirty look they sent my way. It was my fault they were in there. But not because I wanted to put them there! Didn't anyone understand that I was under pressure?! Especially Dumbledore, the blasted man, patronising me in that irritatingly calm way of his. He wasn't the Minister. He didn't understand the political pressure being pushed upon me every cursed moment of my day.  
I walked past each cell, and gazed at every hunched body in every cell. As I passed, each head raised to look at me. I averted my gaze.  
Then I came across the last cell.  
His cell.  
I knew something was different as soon as I walked up to the barred door. Yes, he was hunched over, like every other prisoner. But instead of simply raising his head in acknowledgement of my presence, he struggled to his feet. He stood.  
No other prisoner had been able to muster up the strength to stand in Azkaban. Not with the Dementors around. But he stood. And he inclined his head politely but coolly in my direction.  
"Good day, Minister."  
I noticed he didn't say, "Good morning." Of course not. There was no perception of time in Azkaban. It was always dark and cold.  
"Good day, Black." Well, if he could remain civil.  
"I'd love to invite you in for a cup of tea, but as you may have noticed, there are rather slim pickings here."  
Sarcastic as always. I was surprised he could manage it. "Thank you, Black, but I'm in rather a hurry, anyway."  
"Of course. But I wonder if you could spare your newspaper. You see, I miss doing the crossword." He looked at me inquiringly with those sunken eyes.  
What a strange request. But then, Black had always been a strange man. "Yes, of course. Would you like a quill to complete it with?" Why not humour him?  
"Oh, no thank you, Minister. I can remember the answers. There isn't much to do in Azkaban but train your memory. Besides, I suspect you lot at the Ministry would believe that a high security prisoner like me would somehow turn a quill into a mass-murder weapon."  
There was that dry humour again. He was right, of course. There would be uproar if I so much as gave the man a toothpick. I couldn't see any harm in handing over the paper, though. What could he do with that, make an origami swan?  
"Thank you, Minister. Enjoy your day."  
"I will, thank you, Black. Good day to you." I walked away, thoroughly rattled. I never thought I'd see the day when I was disturbed to find someone far too normal.


	2. Rekindled: Sirius

_Innocence._

It was unnerving how many times one word could change definitions in only one lifetime.

In my first year at Hogwarts, all those years ago, innocent was what we all were. Well, perhaps not so much me and James. I don't think we've ever been all that innocent. But most of the first years. They were innocent. Not knowing much about the world, with big, eager eyes, ready to know everything they could about the spellbinding new world they were about to enter.

A few years passed. Innocent became what we claimed to be to the professors, simply to avoid detention. Innocent was what they never believed that we were.

How times have changed. How I long for those times when the worst thing that could happen, should you be convicted, was that you would be forced to file papers or scrub trophies.

Still more years passed. We graduated from Hogwarts. Joined the Order. Fought Voldemort. And innocence became what we all suspected each other of lacking. Shame we all suspected the wrong people.

It was this lack of innocence that got my best friend killed.

Pettigrew! How could I never have suspected him? The filthy coward. I should've known that he would go running to what he thought was the winning side. Instead, I suspected Remus. How could I have? Remus was- probably still is, although I suspect I will never know- the most trustworthy man I have ever met, aside from Dumbledore. The good boy, brave as could be, still managing to stay sensible even under our misguided influence.

And now, all these years later, innocence is perhaps the most infuriating word I have ever heard. Innocence is the only thing tethering me to sanity now, stuck in a damp cell in the middle of the North Sea surrounded by all these… these… I can't think of a word monstrous enough to describe them. Yes, my innocence is what's keeping me sane. But it's also what is driving me mad. How could I be the one imprisoned in here, when it was _Peter_ who committed the crime? How did no one remember that James was my best friend? How did no one argue that I would never, _could_ never have hurt him?

Why did we ever let that rat join us, anyway? Hah, I remember, clear as day. It was a bad memory, after all. The Dementors didn't want it.

I'd been with James and Remus. We were sitting in the courtyard, practicing Charms. No, not practicing, performing. We were way too cool to practice anything.

Then the little rat came running. Some Slytherin was after him, and he was panicking. James and I cursed the bully- after all; he was picking on a fellow Gryffindor. And he was a Slytherin. They're all bad, the lot of them.

The stupid git had been in awe of us- who wasn't?- and had begged to join us. Why had we agreed? He clearly wasn't one of us. He wasn't our type. But we agreed, because we felt sorry for him. And because he'd agreed to do all of our homework for a month. Except Moony, he'd wanted to do his himself.

My best friend's life for a month without homework.

How I loathed Pettigrew. He hadn't just been a stupid traitor, he'd also landed me in Azkaban for something I would never, ever do. I didn't care about that. There wasn't much for me out there, anyway. James had been my only family. No, I didn't care about Azkaban. But I did care that I was here, and that cursed rat _wasn't_. He deserved to be. He deserved _worse_, far, far worse.

I take back what I said about Azkaban. I hate Azkaban. The Dementors, the cold, and worst of all, the _boredom_. There was absolutely nothing to do here. You couldn't reminisce, because your memories were gone. You couldn't draw or write because anything pointy was taken firmly away from you. All you could do was stare and memorise every marking on every cursed wall.

That's why I welcomed a visit, even from the Minister.

It was entertaining, disconcerting him with my normality. It was entertaining seeing his face as I asked for the newspaper. I didn't really want the paper. What would I do with it? I wasn't interested in the news of the day. I was in Azkaban, what the hell would I want with it? I simply welcomed a chance to send a veiled retort his way about how unbearable Azkaban was and how paranoid the stupid Ministry was. No, I didn't care about the newspaper.

But that changed as soon as I saw the picture on the front cover.

A happy family, waving from their vacation in Egypt. _The Weasleys_, according to the article. I'd heard of them. Pure-blood, but hated as any Muggle born, for they were blood traitors. This, I deduced, automatically meant that they must have been decent people.

It wasn't the Weasleys I was interested, though.

It was the rat on a boy's shoulder.

_Ronald Weasley_, read the caption. He looked Hogwarts age. I wondered if he was friends with Harry…

But the rat. _The rat_. It was him, I was sure of it. Pettigrew. While I was wasting away in Azkaban, he was living with a happy wizarding family, blame free.

I would get him, somehow. Seeing his picture stimulated an urge to escape, to exact my revenge. Yes, I would escape Azkaban. I would kill Peter Pettigrew.

_He's at Hogwarts_.


End file.
